


asphyxiation

by jinkandtherebels



Category: Naruto
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, PWP, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shisui loves the feel of Itachi’s hands around his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	asphyxiation

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Erstickung](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310327) by [Drowned](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drowned/pseuds/Drowned)



> *cough* Well...school's out, guys.
> 
> ~~so I'm back to writing porn at 2am hahahaa~~

Shisui loves the feel of Itachi’s hands around his throat. He never comes as hard as he does when there are thumbs pressed into his neck, making it hard for him to get air into his lungs. He tells himself shinobi court death on the daily, so what difference does it make, really? What’s just a little bit more risk?

It’s not the hands themselves that are dangerous, though, Shisui knows that—what’s dangerous is the trust. Having that much trust is tantamount to suicide in their line of work; Shisui himself has a whole damn laundry list of reasons to be paranoid, mistrusting.

But then again, he thinks, so does Itachi. He’s closed himself off from other people so thoroughly by now, Shisui could count on one hand the number of people Itachi puts any faith in and still have fingers left over.

Itachi’s hips roll into him and Shisui’s eyes roll back in his head. His train of thought briefly crashes.

He can’t breathe; his vision is getting fuzzy with it, blurred around the edges, but he doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to lose sight of Itachi’s eyes.

_This_ goes both ways. Itachi trusts him enough to trust him with this, the look on his face as he fights with himself for control. He never breaks eye contact, which should be unsettling rather than intoxicating, but that’s Itachi all over.

(It’s the eye contact, more than anything else, that makes Shisui think maybe they’re both putting themselves out there.)

He’s gasping now, Shisui can hear himself—air coming in tiny little pants as his fingers clutch helplessly at the sheets. Gripping tight and then letting go. He can’t tell if he’s about to come or die, if Itachi’s going to choke him to death while he fucks him into the mattress, and at this point Shisui is frankly beyond caring.

Sweat is darkening the hair around Itachi’s temples. His eyes are hazy, his mouth working against a sound he refuses to make; Shisui can see the struggle and he knows Itachi’s composure is slipping. He knows Itachi is fighting it.

Shisui, for what it’s worth, gave up fighting a long time ago.

Fingernails bite sharp into his throat. Shisui chokes. His whole body jerks.

_I trust you_ , he thinks. _I trust you_.

Which is probably the reason he’s fucked, and it’s definitely the reason he doesn’t care.

He’s so lightheaded he thinks he’s passing out when he finally comes, everything going dangerously black except for the white stars blinking in and out of his vision; he registers Itachi stilling, shuddering, feels the warmth inside. Feels it when Itachi slowly unlocks those beautiful long fingers from around Shisui’s neck.

Air in his lungs feels like a climax all over again. Shisui’s pretty sure he moans, now that he’s able to. Itachi hasn’t made a sound—his mouth is bitten raw—but he’s staring down at Shisui with his breath coming soft and sharp, like he’s the one who hasn’t been breathing.

They stare at each other. It takes a minute for Shisui to string words together, brain cells temporarily obliterated both by a lack of oxygen and the feeling of Itachi still buried inside him. (It’s a nice feeling.)

He wets his lips. “How bad does it look?”

When Itachi blinks at him (once, slowly, like he’s underwater), Shisui arches and displays his neck. Itachi’s eyes drag over the skin there before returning to Shisui’s face—if Shisui didn’t know Itachi was above such petty human concerns, he’d think he was satisfied about something.

“It will bruise,” Itachi says. Then, after a moment’s consideration, “Noticeably.”

Shisui pictures it, a necklace of deep mottled purple in the shape of Itachi’s fingers, and shivers.

“Good,” he says.

They’re currently suffering through the hottest part of the absolutely brutal Konoha summer and Shisui will have to wear stuffy, high-necked, standard-issue Clan Uchiha shirts for a week at least, and it’s all worth it. Worth it for the not-quite-smug look on Itachi’s face, worth it for the reminder that he has this, that they both have this. This tiny little island of trust in an ocean of paranoia, where they both get what they want and nobody questions it.

_Worth it_ , he thinks. Itachi’s eyes are glinting in that way that means he’s smiling somewhere inside, somewhere deep and inscrutable that no one else gets to see. _Definitely worth it_.


End file.
